The musician sat upon the cliff
   And gazed down into the sea
And saw the waves rolling
   And surging about him.

His zither lay off to the side,
   The air was pure and mild;
And as if from a great distance
   Many a dear image appeared to him.

Slumber, too, came faithfully,
   And played about his silver hair
And, in such a silent and holy manner,
   Closed his tired eyes.

And with the circle of dreams
   The joy of youth surged up;
And many broken plantlets
   Bloomed again with life.

And old beautiful hours
   Became new for him again,
As if he had found his beloved
   And his beloved [were]1 faithful to him.

Then a sudden dread seizes
   Him as with the blowing of a storm,
And he hears the waves roaring,
   Saw his beloved sinking.--

And now from his dreams
   The musician quickly awakes,
And sees the foaming of the billows
   And sees the night of the waves.

And hears the winds whistling
   And storming about him.
He reached for his zither,
   But found no zither any longer.

The zither floats in the waves,
   The storm pulled it down,
And his tears well forth
   By the grave of his beloved.

Then it seemed to him as if it were calling,
   As if the strings were sounding;
And he plunges down into the deep
   And makes his way through the waves.

And from afar he sees it gleaming
   And he battles his way toward it,
And he holds it up, then both
   The zither and the musician sink into the sea.